


Fairly Local

by Clonesy



Series: Nails For Breakfast, Tacks For Snacks [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gang World, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Clexa, Gen, Light Angst, No one dies because fuck that :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 13:10:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7105834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clonesy/pseuds/Clonesy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A 4am walk home should be easy. A 4am walk home should not end with someone bleeding out onto the backseat of a car, but in the lives they live, a little bit of bloodshed was always going to be inevitable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fairly Local

 

Shoving her phone into the back pocket of her jeans, Lexa can only sigh amusedly at herself. She imagines Clarke, back in her bedroom, checking her phone as she clambers into bed. Clarke’ll sigh, the same amused sigh as Lexa herself, that acknowledges the joke for what it is – morbid, a coping mechanism, but still marginally funnier than anything else in their lives.

A humorous goodbye makes things easier. The temptation to stay with Clarke after one of their 3am trysts is much too great and, with the enclosing grasp of sleep eager to take Lexa at any moment, a romantic farewell is too difficult. To play it off and save the sappiness until they are in private once more is the life Lexa prefers to live. Well, she doesn’t _prefer_ it, but it’s necessary.

Lexa dusts her hands that are dirty from the climb down Clarke’s drainpipe. Some of it is stubborn, but it’s nothing wiping her hands against her jeans a few times doesn’t fix.

A buzz from her pocket indicates a new message. Lexa retrieves her phone as she begins to walk down the street, glancing back just before she looks at the screen. Watching the increasing distance between her and Clarke’s house is still as sad as the numerous times it’s happened before.  

She opens the message.

_< 3 Clarke <3 : Don’t you dare. I need you._

She quickly types out a reply and continues walking, a small smile plastered on her face.

‘ _I guess I can stay alive. Just for you though.’_

Her phone returns to its back pocket and Lexa presses on. With a good 2 hour walk ahead of her, Lexa knows she’s got to head out quickly lest she wants to find herself in the middle of Arkadia High territory when the sun rises. Which would not be a pretty sight.

She gets twenty minutes into her travels before she finally relaxes, sure in herself that she’s out of Clarke’s immediate vicinity and is at least _somewhat_ safe. The next hour and 40 minutes should be a breeze.

However, Lexa’s hopes of an easy journey are quickly ripped away when a voice echoes down the street. It’s a man, yelling – yelling at her, no less. She turns her head towards the sound and catches a glimpse of a figure.

Under a street light stands some guy with his arms crossed. He calls out a name – Octavia – a few times before continuing to walk in Lexa’s direction.

Lexa turns back to where she was headed and continues to walk: it’s none of her business. She’s too tired to be dealing with any of Arkadia High’s lackeys who deem themselves protectors or whatever.

Of course, as she runs the name through her head a few times she realises this is might be a problem.

Like, a _fucking huge_ problem _._

Lexa knows only one Octavia out of the two high schools in the area, and that is Octavia Blake, member of the Arkadia High gang and the girlfriend of Lincoln: Lincoln who goes to her own school, Polis High. Octavia is known to Lexa and her gang for staying at Lincoln’s, who coincidentally lives just a few blocks from Lexa.

If someone is looking for Octavia – no doubt her overprotective brother Bellamy, a renowned ‘solider’ of Arkadia – then they’re not going to find her here, but they will find the leader of the Polis High Kru, which is (without much argument) a much better find.

Well, shit.

Quite frankly, Lexa’s not in the mood to be dealing with some patron would-be saint of Arkadia. She tries to blend in with the darkness as she keeps walking but the figure follows, clearly intrigued. He calls out ‘Octavia’ again, and he’s close enough that Lexa hears his huff of frustration.

“Octavia, come back here.” He calls.

When Lexa makes no attempt to respond or at least, doesn’t attempt quick enough, it takes only moments for him to sprint over and grab her arm.

Lexa instinctually backhands him.

He stumbles over, clutching his face.

“What the fuck, O?!”

“I think you will find that is not who I am.” Lexa replies sternly. In those precious seconds where he’s stumbling, Lexa quickly ID’s him: of course, it’s Bellamy.

Bellamy goes to apologise, bowing his head in an ashamed manner before looking up, but is struck dumb when he catches Lexa’s face.

He simply stares at her for a few seconds, speechless.

But then-

“You’re Lexa.” He states. The blankness in his tone betrays his confusion.

“Yes, and you’re Bellamy. I know about you.” Lexa replies stoically. This interaction is already boring her. 

She watches the tightening of his jaw as his thoughts click into place. His eyes are ablaze, intense as he looks over her, questioning everything.

“Why are you here?” He asks, “I could kill you for being on our territory -” He reaches for his knife, “- and that’s a warning.”

Only he couldn’t kill her. He’s overly tense and his stance is too wide. It wouldn’t be a fair fight for the fact Lexa - although entirely too disinterested in fighting right now - could and would kick his ass in two seconds.

 “…Although it’s not a fair fight for _you_. You don’t have a weapon.” Bellamy says, which sounds more of a threat than a chivalrous admittance of unfairness.

Lexa almost scoffs. His confidence is nothing if misplaced.

“It’s unfortunate for you. Clarke will be proud to know I slayed the _mighty_ heda.” 

Lexa counters, remarking “If you must know, my weapon is with Clarke.”

Which, technically, is the truth: her knife is in Clarke’s room.

She gave it to Clarke as a sign of trust and commitment. Also because Clarke’s knife was small and pathetic and someone as ethereal as Clarke deserves a weapon that matches.

Of course, Bellamy doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know a lot of things.

Lexa does, though, and she knows that was just the button she needed to push to speed things up. She knows what her admission sounds like, filtered through Bellamy’s bias and ignorance. She knows it will spur the wannabe hero to action. She can’t be dealing with empty threats and pointless posturing all night, after all.

Bellamy suddenly swings his knife, arm curling towards Lexa. She dodges with grace, grabs his arm, and bends it back. Bellamy yelps, the knife dropping to the ground with an echoing clatter. He joins it a moment later when Lexa delivers a swift kick to his torso.

It’s over in but a few seconds with a winded and defeated Bellamy groaning at her feet. Lexa doesn’t feel even the slightest bit elevated at the sight; she just feels inconvenienced.

So much for a peaceful walk home.

She turns back to where she had been walking before and leaves Bellamy where he lies. He’ll collect his ego back up soon enough.

She takes a first step. A hand grabs her ankle.

Lexa trips, falls gracelessly to the ground with a thud and wheezes. She’s dazed, in no state to fight back when Bellamy wrangles his way on top of her and pins her down. She struggles against him, grunting and growling as he pushes down. Strong though she may be, Bellamy is considerably larger than her and she can’t seem to find the proper leverage to buck him properly.

He hisses something defensive about leaving his people alone but the sound of a knife dragging against the gravel is unmistakably loud against it, and Lexa knows all too well where this is heading.  He lifts the knife up, using his other arm to hold Lexa in place.

He juts his elbow into Lexa’s windpipe and chokes her.

Bellamy slashes down but Lexa finds it in her to twist to the side. It throws him off and his strike misses. He’s quick to jump back on her and struggle again, fighting against her to keep her still and in foul play, Lexa spits at him. It’s something she’d never do if this was an honourable fight, but this fruitless struggle to take her life is as honourable as murdering someone in their sleep.

Bellamy doesn’t take kindly to it, and he throws his head back, grimacing in disgust.

Lexa takes the opportunity, and puts all her strength into thrusting her body weight against him. Bellamy is thrown back but tries to drag Lexa by grabbing her hoodie. Lexa retorts with a head-butt. It hurts like a bitch, but it’s effective, and Bellamy’s grip relents.

They both scramble to stand up.

Heavy breathing and silence follows.

Bellamy looks Lexa down and back up. His eyes widen slowly, some shade of regret shadowing them for a moment before steel shutters down over his eyes and the remorse fades from the beginnings of a spark to dying embers to wisps of smoke lost in the dark. His jaw clenches, the muscle bunching and relaxing and clenching again, some private war Lexa doesn’t understand and doesn’t particularly want to, before settling in some amalgam of pleased disgust. His lips twist at the corners, a sneering smirk half-pleased and half-grim.

Lexa looks down, sees blood. _Her_ blood.

It happened so quickly she hadn’t even noticed.

Then comes the pain, as if the world had been on pause for a second only to be thrown back into motion. It rushes in so fast it’s almost nauseating and Lexa only manages a gasp before she collapses to the ground.  Around the cut she feels her blood pool onto the pavement, and she feels weak. Everything goes a little fuzzy, and all she can feel is pain. Agonising, paralysing pain.

Bellamy watches her, mulling over his actions.  

Then, he wipes some blood onto his jeans and turns away, pulling out his phone.

Consciousness fleeting, Lexa only catches the beginning of a conversation before the lull of unconsciousness pulls her in.

“Hey, Clarke? Where are you? Are you okay? I got the bitch…”

XxX

“Bellamy, I can’t believe you stabbed her. She’s almost dead because of you!”

_“I don’t see why you care. We protect our own first.”_

“Protecting our own first is what started this stupid war; I was trying to stop this all.”

_“Well clearly you’re not doing a very good-“_

“Shut up.” Clarke interrupts, “She’s waking up.”

//

Lexa opens her eyes to the interior of a car, darkened by the night. The engine is quiet and the ride smooth—the occasional flash of a streetlight the only major tell-tale they are moving at all. Lexa’s lying in the back seats and Clarke is there too, serving as a headrest and holding a bloodied rag to her abdomen. Bellamy is in the front, driving with a white-knuckled grip on the wheel.

Bellamy glances back to look at the two of them, and his palely lit face is full of disdain. He’s not happy with this. _With Clarke_. He grumbles an agreement to keep quiet, and returns to looking ahead.

When Clarke sees Bellamy focus back on the road, she sighs at him before taking one hand and interlinking it with Lexa’s. At least with him driving, she can take a few liberties. Although holding the cold and clammy hand of your barely conscious girlfriend can barely be counted as such. Lexa is weak, all dark circled eyes and shivering. Clarke feels herself break a little at how _small_ she seems.

Lexa watches the emotions pass through Clarke’s face and her stomach drops. She goes to speak but Clarke hushes her and squeezes her hand.

“It’s okay.” Clarke whispers, “You’re gonna be okay.”  

It’s quite possibly a lie though, and Clarke tears up at the thought.

After Bellamy called her, and she’d stolen her mom’s car to reach them quickly, Clarke took a proper look at the damage: she knows what lies under the rag she holds. Bellamy’s knife did a number on Lexa, creating a wound that’s deep, maybe just under a couple inches – not quite instantly fatal, but enough to bleed out in under an hour. God knows how much time is left.

She swaps out the rag for another, hating herself a little bit for the obvious discomfort it causes when she presses down. Lexa’s body shakes and shudders but she keeps quiet, simply gritting her teeth. Clarke admires her resistance but knows it can only last so long…  

Lexa just lies there, silently taking in the situation in and letting the throbbing ache in and around her stomach consume her, and she can just _feel_ the weariness settle in her bones. It’s familiar, like the tiring burn of a good gym session except much worse and a lot more fatal. She compares it to the other familiar pain she knows: the pain of Anya’s death, of Costia’s disappearance, even the pain of her parents’ ignorance towards her… Yeah, it’s a lot more fucking painful, that’s for sure. None of those can take her away from Clarke.

It’s getting quite difficult to resist crying out now.

Lexa realises it’s very likely she’s going to die in this backseat. Her vision is already black at the edges and breathing is a lot of effort. But maybe that’s okay… maybe dying will stop the turf war, and the violence will end. Her death would _mean something_.

Clarke interrupts Lexa’s thoughts with soothing whispers.

“It’ll be okay.” She repeats, “You’ll make it through this.”

It’s as if she’d heard the entire internal monologue. She hadn’t, but she knows that look in Lexa’s eyes when her thoughts get too deep and death calls like a song, chorusing martyrdom and revolution.

Clarke thinks they’re both too young to consider such a thing, but here they are anyway. She never thought a turf war between two groups of kids could get so serious, but with someone (her girlfriend, no less) bleeding out on a car backseat, the full scale of how far gone they are is plain to see. Regardless, Clarke refuses to let Lexa die on her lap, no matter what ‘good things’ could come of it.

Lexa, however, wants—no, she needs—Clarke to know it’s okay. Were it her choice she’d never leave Clarke’s side, but this situation isn’t exactly the choosing kind. She manages to sound Clarke’s name on the exhale of her breath. It’s barely audible, but in the silence of the car she may as well have been screaming.

“Please, Lexa, don’t talk. Save your strength. We’re almost at the hospital. Just a few more minutes” Clarke rambles away, keeping the hope she desperately needs at the forefront and not letting Lexa speak because she knows what’ll happen if she does.

 A moment of silence follows.

Then, Lexa admits quickly “I know I’m going to die.”

Clarke crumbles.

She’s avoided it so far; she can’t accept it.

“No.” She says adamantly. “No, we are not letting you die.”

She ducks her head down, trying to keep it together, but it’s inevitable. She sobs, hiccups, and then the tears fall. They pat gently on Lexa’s forehead, and Clarke tries to hold them back but only succeeds in forming a lump in her throat that burns with every attempt to swallow.

Lexa feels herself starting to crack.

She whispers, “Clarke, please…”

“Lexa, I can’t lose you…I-…I love you. I fucking love you, okay?!” Clarke cries. Her voice is jittery and her breath comes in guttural gasps. She can’t lose Lexa, not today, not in this way.

Bellamy nearly slams on the break in shock. He turns his head back to Clarke violently.

“What did you just say?” He inquires, scowling at her. When Clarke shakes her head, too choked up too think let alone give an answer, he gets angry.

“What did you just say?!”

Clarke’s just looking at him, crying. She has no answer, because she can’t say it again. It’s already too real as it is.  

Of course, he is still expecting a reply.

Lexa’s voice slices through the heavy silence, “She loves me, Bellamy.”

Though weak and struggling she may be, Clarke is upset and that is not something Lexa will stand for, “She _love_ s me, and I love her…and don’t you ever yell at her again, do you understand me?”

Bellamy’s jaw clamps shut again. He returns his full attention to the road with an even tenser grip on the wheel and his teeth grinding. He wants to say something, but there’s too much to say and too many things to ask.

‘ _When did this happen? How? Why?’_

Clarke knows what he feels, doesn’t even humour the idea that he’s okay with this revelation. She also knows to leave him be, let him simmer in whatever he’s currently feeling. It doesn’t feel _right_ , but it’s the only thing she can do. It might be a blessing in disguise because it lets her focus on Lexa, whose eyes are shut tight and whose breath is shallow and drawn out.

She’s in pain, more than before.

“Lexa, you’re still here with me. Promise you won’t leave me.” Clarke pleas, reclaiming Lexa’s clammy hand in her own, and she allows herself a small sigh of relief when Lexa’s eyes open blearily. They linger on Clarke for a second, unfocused. Lexa’s mouth hangs open as if she wants to say something, but she just breathes and nods slowly. The act of talking with force seems to have knocked it out of her, quite literally.

Even so, Clarke is a little confused. Lexa should be more responsive than this.  

Something isn’t right.

Clarke puts a hand on Lexa’s shoulder and shakes her gently.

“Lexa?”

Lexa says a few syllables vaguely resembling Clarke’s name and blinks a few times before glancing away and letting her eyes gently close. Any fight she had seems gone in all but a second, sapped away. Lexa tries to resist the urge to sleep, trying to tell Clarke that although this isn’t her choice, she _wants_ to choose to live.

But she can’t.

“Lexa, come back to me.”  

There’s no response.

“Lexa?”

The car is silent.

“Lexa!”

In Lexa’s ears, Clarke’s choked voice becomes a murmur, muffled as if underwater. Lexa is drowning, surrounded by black, and everything just melts away. Something inside her calls to keep fighting, but she knows her fight is over. In the last few seconds of consciousness she feels the car shift around a corner and come to a stop.

Then voices, so many panicked voices, calling her to attention.

And then silence.

 xXx

Hushed voices, a rustle of papers, the steady beep of a heart monitor:

The sounds of a hospital; the sounds of something that is very much not death.

Lexa comes to gently with nothing but groggy confusion and a numbed ache in her side.

With such a strong belief that she was heading to an early grave tonight, Lexa finds herself surprised, but ultimately relieved. She doesn’t know what time it is, or which hospital this is, but she is thankful.

_She is alive._

The anaesthesia leaves her tired, but Lexa opens her eyes anyway. She is only glad for the first thing she sees to be Clarke. Her vision is blurry and still trying to focus, but she’d recognise Clarke’s gently curled hair anywhere. It’s a sight for sore eyes, settles something somewhere inside her that she cannot name and maybe wouldn’t even if she could. Some things are too sacred for words.

Clarke is busy talking to a doctor. They’re speaking about Lexa’s recovery and what happens next. Clarke seems at home here, talking medical lingo with the doctor and, despite the circumstances, Lexa feels happy because she just knows Clarke will an amazing doctor herself one day.  Hell, she’s not even in the career yet, and she’s already saving lives where she can.

Fortunately, Lexa’s staring attracted the attention of the actual doctor, who gives a surprised raise of the eyebrows and smiles. She nudges Clarke, and she turns around.

Lexa smiles weakly and lifts her hand in a pathetic attempt to wave.

 “Heyyy” Lexa drawls, her voice gravelly and slurred like she’s had far too much to drink and far too little to sleep.

Clarke’s lip trembles, and she lets out a small sob before breaking into a watery grin.

“Hey” she replies, sniffling. She quickly wipes the tears from her eyes and closes the gap between her and the bed before carefully wrapping her arms around Lexa. She buries her head in Lexa’s shoulder and holds on for dear life.

“I never thought I would see you again.” She whispers fearfully, “your heart stopped during your surgery...You- …you almost _died_!”

“Hey now,” Lexa coos weakly, “I promised I wouldn’t leave you.”

Despite her fatigue, Lexa reaches up and holds Clarke as best she can. Clarke only takes it as permission to squeeze tighter, hugging her arms around Lexa as if a looser grip might mean she’d disappear. Lexa wants to melt into it, to feel nothing but Clarke’s warm body against hers and just forget what happened tonight. Clarke feels the same and plants a discrete kiss to Lexa’s neck. It’s soft and gentle –nothing scandalous at all - but it feels like a secret.  Lexa doesn’t understand the need to be covert but enjoys the momentary intimacy it brings. It’s almost as if they’re not in a hospital room but instead a little a bubble of peace. A moment of sanctuary in the seemingly endless chaos that their lives have become in the wake of the war.

Tragically, it’s quickly lost when the doctor behind them clears her throat. Clarke stiffens and steps away quickly, wiping her eyes again. She exchanges a faux nonchalant glance with the doctor, who rolls her eyes and tuts at her. Lexa simply watches them both in complete confusion, entirely lacking any idea of what’s going on.

The doctor then steps forward and outstretches her hand to introduce herself. “Hi Lexa, I’m Doctor Griffin, Clarke’s mom.” She says.

 _Oh_.

“I was the one who performed your surgery.”

_Oh shit._

Lexa shakes Doctor Griffin’s hand warily, nearly beside herself. Of all the times to meet Clarke’s mom, it _had_ to be now.

“Um. Thank you for saving my life.” Lexa mumbles awkwardly, unsure of how this sort of conversation is meant to go. She’s unsure of the protocols for meeting the mother of your secret girlfriend who is also the doctor that just saved your life.

Doctor Griffin nods, understanding Lexa’s slight strangeness for a simple post-anaesthesia haze, something that’s very common. She checks her watch and takes a step back, indicating that she has to leave. She explains, “I have to go check on another patient, so I’ll leave you two alone for a moment. I’ll be back to check on you soon.” And then quickly excuses herself with a curt smile.

Once she’s gone Clarke sighs in relief and groans, “Thank God.” Before closing the space between her and Lexa. She leans down and kisses Lexa firmly, getting lost in the lips she came so close to losing.

Lexa loves kissing Clarke, more than anything in the world, but right now she can’t. She can’t when there are so many things swimming around her head. She puts her hand on Clarke’s arm and Clarke pulls back, staring intently into Lexa’s eyes with concern.

“What? Does it hurt?” Clarke asks, already recoiling in guilt.

“No, Clarke,” Lexa assures gently, “I just need to ask you something.”

Clarke visibly relaxes. She smiles.

“What is it?”

She asks simply, “Where is Bellamy?”

Clarke’s smile drops quickly.

“Why do you want to know that?”

“Why do you think, Clarke? He has to pay for what he did.” Lexa takes Clarke’s hand in her own and sighs, “I know you don’t like it…but I have to make an example of him.”

Clarke’s expression reads one of exasperation. She sometimes forgets that they’re technically enemies on two sides of a raging war. If anyone knew they were together right now, they’d both be stabbed, or shot, or _worse_. She has to let Lexa’s side act out revenge, or risk being exposed for falling in love with her…

She wants to be the good guy, but maybe there aren’t any in this case.

Clarke sighs.

This is a decision too heavy to make right now.

“Can we just talk about this later?” She bargains, “You almost died today and talking about more pain and torture is just-“

Lexa interrupts, “It’s okay, Clarke…You’re right, I’m sorry.” Lexa gives Clarke’s hand a squeeze, “Maybe one day our schools won’t hate each other, and it’ll be different.”

Clarke just looks at Lexa sadly.

“I wish it was different now.”

Lexa regrets her sudden abrasiveness, and swallows the lump in her throat at seeing Clarke suddenly so withdrawn.  Despite the gut wrenching pain, she scooches to the edge of the bed and pats the space that she makes besides her, looking at Clarke apologetically. Clarke gives a disapproving glare but clambers in anyway and curls up next to Lexa, careful of her injury.

The small hospital bed is uncomfortable, and deciding to shuffle is causing arguably the worst pain Lexa has felt (aside the actually being stabbed in the first place, that is) in a long while, but she doesn’t care. All she wants is Clarke next to her.

They lie together, not sleeping despite their fatigue. In the silence, with nothing but Lexa’s heart monitor beeping to fill the quiet, they find peace for the first time since Lexa left Clarke’s house all those hours ago. Everything still aches, and the heavy feeling of those early morning events are a long way away from being forgotten, but at least they get to be together and be safe.

It’s sad really, Lexa thinks, that the only way they’ve managed to get like this is through attempted murder. Despite it all, she’s actually considering letting Bellamy off the hook. The idea that their gangs follow of ‘blood must have blood’ is toxic; it’s the very reason she almost died. In fact, it’s the very reason why she shouldn’t react. Her anger at Bellamy will only breed more anger and then what chance do she and Clarke have?

Maybe it’s time to change.

“I wish it was different, too.” Lexa says into the silence.

And she means it.

She really does.  

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, huge shout out to Silent-Wordsmith for beta-ing this fic! 
> 
> Feel free to comment and leave suggestions :)


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